


It's a Terrible Life (But It Can Get Worse)

by BladeAchilles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Character Death, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, M/M, but it's a total crack pair, it gets kinda dark guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BladeAchilles/pseuds/BladeAchilles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a Terrible Life AU where the Leviathans come on the scene early and it leads to Dean Smith/Dick Roman. That's basically it guys, sorrynotsorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Writing is Hard

_“In 8 to 10 short years, that could be you.”_

    He almost turns Mr. Adler down, he really does. He can’t deny what Wesson said-that killing that ghost felt _right_ somehow, that there’s this feeling that he is supposed to be doing something more than the corporate climb, like he has a, a _destiny_ or something. (Which, okay, sounds totally crazy, he knows, but still.) It would fly in the face of everything that he worked so hard to make his life into, but he almost throws everything to the wind to go chase after ghosts with an over-sharing IT worker. Almost.

 

    But more than that, and much more unsettling, is this bone-deep suffocating sense of _weariness_ that is lurking just below his surface thoughts. Dean Smith is tired and he doesn't even know why. All he wants is to rest, but he doesn't know what from. And so, in a move that makes no logical sense, he accepts the absurd bonus and the commitment to spending years of his life slogging away at work for almost sweatshop-level hours in an attempt to find some peace-and if that doesn't show that yeah, okay, he might have some issues he will eat his Italian leather shoes. Although what's really odd is that Mr. Adler almost seems angry when he accepts. The smile drains from his face, and after several moments of staring at Dean he leaves without another word. Huh. Now he was starting to think that maybe Adler was making some sort of weird power play he wasn't aware of (could he be after the VP position himself?). Well, no-body makes the mistake of thinking of Dean Smith as a pawn for long.

 

    So he buries himself in his work-and if he can say so himself, he's fucking good at it. He ignores the odd flashes of guilt, that niggling feeling that something was off, and he closes three accounts that week. He makes it the gym finally, and pushes himself so hard that he can barely walk to his car afterwards. And if when he hears the story at the water cooler about that guy in IT who went all Office Space on a phone with a crowbar and quit he can't stop spending the rest of the day wondering what Sam is up to, if he's okay and actually succeeding at the whole Ghostfacers thing, well, there's a whole stack of charts on his desk that need to be reviewed.

 

    Scott in Accounting tells him that Mr. Adler had a nervous breakdown and was ranting to his secretary, something about 'if he won't do it then there are other ways of getting enough juice to defeat the Adversary' before just flat out disappearing. Dean forces a laugh before going back to his office, chugging an entire bottle of the cleanse, and desperately trying to ignore the underlying feeling of panic by aggressively editing into oblivion a PowerPoint an intern did on Domestic Trends. That night, for the first time in a long time, he goes to the bar near his apartment and gets absurdly, insanely, _smashed._ He vaguely remembers calling his dad on the stumble back home and getting an AA center in South Dakota, but he chalks that up to the havoc all those carbs and alcohol were doing to his freshly cleansed system.

 

    Life continued on like this for a couple of months-a spiraling cycle of confusing, suppressed emotions, which made him work like a man possessed in an attempt to forget, until he finally breaks down and gets so stinking drunk he can't think any more, which only serves to start the whole damn cycle again with a vengeance the next morning. Sandover becomes the victim of a hostile takeover, but who isn't these days. And besides, Roman Enterprises is a powerhouse, if anything the opportunities for someone like Dean have only improved.

So when HR calls him to let him know that Dick Roman himself was in the building and wanted to talk to none other than Dean Smith, Director of Sales and Marketing, he’s nervous but excited-this is what he was born to do, after all.

 

 

    

    

     


	2. Like I'm living in a dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished, yay! It's not very long, sorry!

   Dean sipped at his water bottle as he tried to process what just happened. He had gone to the meeting with Mr. Roman, nervous but covering it up with the aura of confidence that had served him so well in the past. Roman had been an almost overwhelming mixture of charm and brass tacks, greeting Dean with a wide smile. He talked about the economy and the fast changing nature of today’s business world before coldly laying out every single mistake that Sandover had made that led to the takeover. Dean was so busy mentally reviewing his application that he almost missed Roman offering him a job in the sales department of Roman Enterprises.

   “I’m sorry-what?” Roman grinned and pushed a drink towards him.

   “I said, despite the incompetence of your bosses, you have shown a real go-get-em attitude, Dean, and I like that. In fact, you could say that it’s thanks to you that I’m here at all.” The fluorescent light gleamed off Roman’s teeth in a way that inexplicably put Dean on edge. “So I’m offering you a position in the mother-ship, so to speak. I like to keep an eye on my investments, and I think you are going to go far.” Of course he accepted, what else could he say? He looked around his rather sparsely decorated office. At least he didn’t have much to pack.

 

   The next few weeks flew by in a whirlwind of activity-meetings and lunches and a new car, a bigger apartment and a secretary. Roman was motivated, that was for sure, always concentrated on what he called the big picture. And he seemed to like Dean’s work-or possibly he just liked Dean. Either way, he had everything that he had dreamed of back at Sandover.

   Dreams though, that was the problem. Every night he had flashes of a man covered in tattoos, eyes glowing as he reached for Dean’s face. He had no idea what it meant, but it was as if some tiny part of himself was screaming at him to wake up. And every time he did wake up sweaty and panicking and no closer to understanding just why he was inching closer to a nervous breakdown that would make Mr. Adler’s look tame.

   The sleepless feverish nights seemed to be bleeding into the daytime-every time he turned on the news there was some new freak storm or disaster somewhere in the world. The people on the streets seemed to be getting slower, almost zombie-esque. One day, on his way into the office, Dean looked up from his phone to see a disheveled man in a dirty trenchcoat just _staring_ at him, with this look of confusion and anger and disappointment all rolled into one. Dean fumbled some change at the guy and hurried into the building, but the unsettling feeling of self-loathing lurked in the pit of his stomach the whole day.

   That night Dean went straight from work to the bar. He planned on getting so amazingly drunk that he A) slept through the night and B) not think. _At all._ He was three drinks into what he planned on being a truly epic bender when who should sit down next to him but his boss.

   “Now that’s what I like about you, Dean. You understand the importance of work hard, play hard.” Roman’s grin and cold eyes seemed to say that he knew every one of Dean’s deep dark secrets and he found them to be amusing. He turned to the bartender and ordered a breath-takingly expensive Chardonnay.

   That’s how it all started. They drank, discussed carefully chosen neutral topics, made a few bland work-related jokes, drank some more, drank a lot more, and then stumbled back to Dick’s hotel room where he proceeded to fuck Dean six ways from Sunday.

   Looking back, it really wasn’t all that surprising. Dean had always had a thing for authority figures, and Dick referred to what became a semi-regular event as ‘synergy’. There rules, some stated outright (no kissing on the mouth) and some Dean had to learn as it went on (Dick didn’t like Dean looking at his face during their sessions, and especially not when he came-but he also didn’t mind a little teeth during a blowjob, so there was that). They never fooled around at work, and Dean never stayed the night. Dick called Dean ‘angel’ sometimes, but Dean was only allowed to refer to him as Mr. Roman.

   Sometimes, when Dean’s freshly pressed trousers are bunched around his feet and his face is buried in Egyptian cotton sheets while his boss is balls deep inside him-his cock ramming over and over again into that sweet spot until Dean comes so hard that he almost blacks out- he wonders if he should be concerned that this isn’t even close to the most fucked up part of his life.

   Things continued on like this for a few months. Work was a blur of acquisitions and meetings and planning charts. Roman talked in the boardroom about how they were making real progress in their goal to properly utilize the American People’s Natural Talents, and despite some fierce opposition, Roman Enterprises was on track to becoming the clear global leader. And then once or twice a week Roman talked in the bedroom about how he was the only one who got to ride Dean’s tight little ass, ride it until Dean was a shaking mess and covered in bite marks.

   Then one day Dean uncovered some surprising news about the China markets, and in his hurry forgot to call ahead before rushing into Dick’s office, not noticing that his secretary was nowhere to be found. It took a moment to process what he was seeing when he threw open the door-it was impossible, crazier than an actual ghost, but where his boss’s head was there was a gaping swirling hole made of teeth and a long forked tongue licking at the blood dripping from them. With all of that going on he almost didn’t even notice the shreds of flesh and bone that painted the office- but he did see a familiar dirty old cap in the middle of it all ( _Dad_ ) and it’s funny, the part of this whole nightmare that he found the strangest was what on Earth could Bobby Singer, affirmed redneck and small town mechanic be doing in the office of one of the most powerful businessman in America and _oh god, oh god, he was going to vomit._

   By the time he dragged his horrified eyes back to his boss, the familiar and very human looking face of Dick Roman was smiling at him, a few flecks of blood on his tie the only thing out of place. “Deano, I’m sorry I made you wait-something important just came up and I had to deal with it ASAP, you know how fast paced this life can be.” He casually strode over to where Dean was clinging to the wall for support, and ignoring Dean’s flinch chucked him playfully on the chin. “Now, now, no need for that face! You have been quite an asset to us-worth far more alive than as a snack. Besides,” he said with a stroke of Dean’s cheek “I treat my pets very well.”     

**Author's Note:**

> There is no rational explanations here.


End file.
